Cameron
by Before Ever-After
Summary: I have learnt that to live with regrets is better than not to live at all. Futurefic
1. Regrets

**Rather unfortunately, I can lay no claim to DPS.**

To live with regret is better than not to live at all. If anything, this is what I have learnt in my life. My regrets are plenty, they always have been, and they are regrets that I will be forced to hold close to my chest until the day I die, but that death will be because it was my time to go, and not because I was so determined to live perfectly that any threat against my idea of perfection was too much to take. Not like others that I have known. Not like Neil. And not like the rest of them, so caught up in one man's words that they shot too high for what they were capable of, and then fell so heavily they were never quite the same. A man, who, incidentally, was one that had never shot all too high himself, becoming first, a high school teacher with a love for poetry, and then a man, broken and beaten by the death of one of his students, the knowledge that he was at least partly responsible for his death a regret that really was too big to live with. He managed though, and for that he has gained my at least grudging respect.

I think though, for all of us that were involved, our regrets centre around the same time, and the same things, although our regrets are very, very different. Mine, the rest of them would pity, even though I am simply the norm. And as much as they love to belittle and berate me – as much as they loved to do so even then, they cannot deny that I was a part of it. I think they would like to though – in many of my moments I think that I would like to, but my past is what made me who I am today, and my past, riddled with regrets as it is, is something that I cannot change, so what use is there in dwelling on what I could have done instead. That lesson I at least learnt well. Instead, I have focused on my future, perhaps somewhat blindly for what became my present. And really, is that not the source of one of my biggest regrets?

Part of me, most of me really, wishes that I could blame what I did back then on the fact that I was _young_. On that I was overpowered by the intimidating power of my father. On a million other things, none even close to the truth. The truth that I was too scared to let the walls of my personality come crumbling down, because I'd always been taught that they should remain there for a reason, that showing yourself for your vulnerabilities was a _weakness _and that should I make myself weak to _anyone_ that I would live to regret it. In the end, I made myself weak to myself, and to the authorities, all too willing and all too able to take advantage of someone only concerned with doing what they'd always been taught was right. And even though my feelings, my instincts, had told me that it was wrong, I'd been taught never to listen to them, because they were fickle, and the Camerons had never gotten _anywhere_ by listening to instinct (well, Uncle Peter had, but we never spoke about him).

I like to say that it was this fear, and this responsibility to do what was right that lead me to do what I did all those years ago; to turn my friends, even though I sometimes doubt that they were really ever that at all, into the authorities. Or, more specifically, turn Charlie into the authorities. Which is the very thought that reminds me that my fear had very little to what I did, and that I was mostly spurred on by some need for revenge. I regret nothing of that though – even today, I still believe that Charlie deserved punishment for what he'd done, for he'd taken things too far, time and time again, and had been met with nothing but praise for it, even though what he'd done had the potential to hurt others. Did, in the end, hurt others. No, if anything, I regretted the fact that I hadn't attempted to put a stop to it earlier, before life had derailed as effectively as it had. I like to think sometimes that had I refused to attend that first meeting, then it wouldn't have gone ahead at all, but not even I am that conceited, and believe me, the word has been attached to me enough for it to mean something by saying that, but being honest I know it wouldn't have. Instead, I should have told in the beginning. Perhaps then, Neil would still be with us, and Charlie would never have been so stupid to go as far as he had. Not much would have changed for me though, save that I would have been exiled sooner, rather than later.

But would I regret even that? Part of me would, I know. The part of me insistent on making connections would lament over this for the rest of my life, for even now I am unable to request Knox's legal services on behalf of the firm, services that are required surprisingly often, something that I'd have never suspected entering into a _stationary_ business of all things. Apparently though, people liked to take me to court over reams of paper. Similarly, Gerald Pitts will never be my bank manager, and I will never have an account at his bank, no matter how good the inflation rates are. I regret, perhaps, these things, the friends I'd lost through technicality – the people that, without Charlie would have seen no reason to hate me. Although, they were the same people that, without Charlie would perhaps have seen no reason to like me.

It is for reasons like those that I see no point in dwelling on what I'd done wrong, and what I could have done instead, because my life, and my past is like the idea of ecosystems as we were taught – remove one thing and the rest fall down. Instead, I do my best to force my successes to mind; my son for one – Robert Richard Cameron the Second, and the child currently swelling the stomach of my wife. Neither Charlie, nor Neil have ever experienced parenthood as I now do, and have never come to realise why our fathers raised us the way they did. Not like I do now, because Neil will never experience such a thing, and Charlie almost as certainly, as wrapped up in a lifestyle of deviance as he is. I understand though, and it is only as I stand over the bassinet of my son, freckled fingers hovering over his chubby cheeks and bow-slung mouth that I promise to myself that he will never need regret like I have.

I will teach him better than that.

**Suddenly, after at least a year, and probably longer of being away from writing fanfiction, from reading fanfiction even, the first paragraph of this story crept into my head, and I found that Richard Cameron had something rather important to say. And so it is to him that I owe this story, and to him I owe my re-emergence into this world. Let me know how I'm going with it, and whether or not its worth continuing, or if it should just stand as it is. **


	2. Fear

**Disclaimer: If only I were so lucky to own Dead Poet's Society**

**OKAY, SO, before the main presentation, I thought it was time for a story! I just got back from this cruise, right? And on this cruise, my friends made friends with some guys (there was tequila involved and threats of jumping off the boat...) and on like the second night (it was really the third, but this guy wasn't introduced till the second, and it was on the third that I clicked), I came to the magnificent realisation that one of my new-found friends looked like Neil-freaking-Perry! I wish this is the stage where I could tell you we shagged, and it was magical, and now we're getting married, but no go D: I did get in trouble for not talking enough though... AND HE LIVES NEAR WHERE I'M MOVING! And I'm rambling, so moving on, but if anyone would understand, it'd be you guys...**

Fear can be a paralysing thing. It is something that we all grow with the knowledge of, through our parents' stories and through the portrayals of life gotten so wrong by Hollywood. I spent much of my time at Dalton paralysed by an external fear, but it was not until I became a parent that I understood just how debilitating it really is. It takes me a few seconds to gain my senses whenever I see Robbie push his limits on the swings, or whenever Julie comes running to me, scrapes on her knees, and tears falling freely from her eyes. I was paralysed by fear for several long, lonely months as my wife lay on the hospital bed that would become her deathbed.

You learn with time, how to push through the fear, however, and if how not to overcome it, than to wear it in a way which you can live with it. You learn that fear occasionally motivates you, instead of paralyses you, and you learn that it is a necessary part of life. Similarly, you become determined to never let your children bear the burden of fear that you have spent your life doing, and you set about to bring them up in the way that was right.

My biggest fear, the one that is the most paralysing of all, sometimes holding me so that I cannot even breathe, so that the sheets feel too tight across my chest, and my throat feels as if a knife is running through it, is that my children will be forced to go through what I did. That they will never really be accepted for what it is that they are, no matter how hard they try, and that when they are forced to make a choice, it will never be the right one. Even now though, I can accept that my children are nothing like me – Robbie is, well he is wild, and Julie is, even as young as she is, completely lost in a world with no interest in her. I'm not sure which one that I worry for more, but at least, with all the experience I had of handling Charlie, I know how to deal with Robbie.

I fear that Robbie will be as impressionable as Charlie was, and as determined to make a difference in a way that will only see him forgotten. I can see him, much too clearly to feel okay about it, in Charlie's position, that stupid paint across his chest – clashing horribly with his Cameron hair – and the nicknames, the righteousness, the daring. I fear that I cannot, will not teach him that there is a better way of living – a better way than Charlie's, and a better way than mine, and that he just needs to stick his head down and wade through all the crap until he is on the other side. I fear that I will not teach him that, and that I won't protect him so that he will not need to know that, but I will do my best. It is why, raising my eyes to lock on themselves on his figure, dangling from the top of the playground, the boy still in control, but only just, that I teeter forwards. "Robert Cameron, what has Daddy told you?"

**Yeah, its short and rather shitty, I'm aware, but hopefully I'll be back in to fix it up some time. I'm exhausted right now, but Cameron decided to start yapping. Let me know what you think worked/ didn't though! And hopefully I'll update this one sooner rather than later. **


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